We Never Change
by Blair.1907
Summary: AU. Yao never really understood what was so entertaining about pubs-they were loud, crowded, and obnoxious. But the worst thing of all, was when your ex was singing on the stage-because it always seemed that their lyrics were partial to you. RoChu.


A/N: Full descriptions are placed at the bottom this time. Before reading, please youtube the song, 'We Never Change,' by the artist Coldplay. Listen to it while you are reading. Thank you.

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><p><strong>We Never Change<strong>

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><p>Yao pulled his collar tentatively, feeling his leather jacket melting uncomfortably into his skin. He wanted to take it off, but one glance around told him there was no way he could do it. Not with so many people-people he didn't know-everywhere.<p>

The club was densely packed by bodies, sweating and grinding against one another in animalistic fashions. Yao found himself frowning in disgust as he edged away from a couple straddling each other atop a barstool, trying to consume one another with their mouths. Did these people have no sense of self restraint? Did they have no shame?

But silly me, Yao thought, as he turned back to the counter. He had been foolish enough to allow Alfred to drag him here. 'Oh come one! It'll be fun! Live a little Yao!' the boisterous American had said. 'You won't regret it!'

For being a top student in just about every subject, Yao found himself unable to resist the tempting promise of something new and exciting, only to find himself caught in another mess.

"Fuck my life." he muttered to himself, raking his fingers in frustration through his short, silken hair.

"Oh? Is Mr. Wang not feeling his best?" asked a voice in heavy French accent.

"No. I wasn't thinking when I agreed to this." Yao replied, without turning his head to look at Francis.

"You know how Jones operates-he guilts you into accompanying him places, where you are left with more regret than what you started out with."

"That's just fucking great. Thanks." Yao snarled back. He glared at his empty glass, before waving the bartender over. "Another coke and rum please."

"You see," Francis drawled, while inspecting his nails. "You've even been brainwashed by Alfred. Since when did you start consuming coke?"

Yao ignored the other man and proceeded to drown his anger in the hard liquor.

"You're whipped for him, mon ami. Alfred has you wrapped around his little fingers."

"I'm through with relationships." Yao snorted.

"You've only ever been in one."

"And it was unsuccessful. An utter waste of my time." Yao replied. "But at least I know when to stop, and don't continue to chase after failures."

"I assure you Arthur Kirkland is just shy. He will come to me eventually. Everyone does." Francis grinned a shit-eating grin. "At least I'm not afraid to pursue my dreams."

Yao felt his patience draining empty as he finished off his drink. "Yeah? Well fuck you Francis. And fuck your stupid little fetishes and over-confidence and ego the size of Africa. Fuck you, fuck you, _fuck you_."

Francis rose from the stool, his grin only growing wider. "I think my job here is done. It is time I take leave. Good luck, my friend, and hang tight for the rest of the night."

"You coward, go ahead and leave things unfinished! You fucker, you whore," Yao found expletives rolling sloppily down his tongue, which was heavy with alcohol. It took him a few seconds before realizing that the Frenchman was no longer in sight. "Fuck."

Yao felt his vision becoming more hazed. Lights from the stage danced around in his eyes, and he felt his skin burning up. But even through his daze, his mind was interrupted by a noise in the background.

_I wanna live life, never be cruel,_

_I wanna live life, be good to you._

Yao rubbed his eyes, his ears perking up as he searched through his dizzy vision for the source of the voice. There was something familiar in that voice. Even through his stupor, Yao felt his heart clenching anxiously.

_I wanna fly, never come down, _

_And live my life, _

_And have friends around._

Focus, Yao thought to himself. He squinted under the dim atmosphere, until his eyes landed on a lonesome, tall figure standing atop the stage. A spotlight was shining down on him, and though Yao did not have the best eyesight in the world, could just make out the singer's pale skin and blonde, nearly platinum hair.

Oh no,

No, no, no.

It couldn't be.

Not him.

_We never change, do we? _

_We never learned to leave, _

_So I wanna live in a wooden house, _

_I wanna live life, always be true, _

_I wanna live life, and be good to you,_

_ I wanna fly, and never come down,_

_ And I live my life, and have friends around._

A heavy feeling formed at the back of Yao's eyes, and he tried blinking it away. Even through the clinking of glasses, the shouting of people, and wild hoots, Yao could make out the steady pounding of the drum, the crashes of cymbal, and the tugging chords of the bass guitar. He could feel his conscience draining slowly back, as the face on he stage became clearer and clearer.

_We never change do we? No, no, _

_We never learned to bleed, _

_So I wanna live in a wooden house, _

_Making more friends would be easy._

The voice was hoarse, raw, and it grated away at Yao's eardrums. He should have been wincing, but his body did no such thing. Instead, his legs carried him closer to the raised platform, to where the singing man was standing. Everything around him seemed to slow down. All Yao could hear was the song. The beautiful, gut wrenching song.

_O I don't have a show to say, _

_Yes, and I sing of a single day, _

_We never change do we? _

_We never learned to leave._

He stopped in a few meters away from the stage. He watched as the singer's eyes shook under closed lids. He saw the perspiration that speckled the man's pale skin, slicking his light, waved tufts of hair to his forehead. Saw as large hands gripped the microphone like nothing else in the world mattered.

Was this the same man Yao thought he knew? There was no scarf draping his neck, no telltale signs of childishness or cheer in his voice. But Yao brought a hand to his hair, his fingertips rubbing against the tips of his dark strands. Things for him had changed as well, and yet he was still very much the same Wang Yao.

The man on the stage took a breath, his eyes slowly-almost majestically-cracking open, to reveal striking orbs of indigo.

The same eyes, Yao decided. They were still the same.

_So, I wanna live life in a wooden house, _

_Making more friends would be easy, _

_I wanna live where the sun comes out_

Their gazes met. Ivan Braginski smiled, and Yao felt a tear escape down his cheek.

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><p><strong> I do not own Hetalia, which rightfully belongs to Hidekaz (sigh)<strong>

** I wrote this for a contest for deviantart. I was feeling a little bad for focusing too much on USUk,when my OTP still remains RoChu. I decided to throw this in as a little break-away oneshot. **

** In this story, Yao Wang (or Wang Yao) is a college student, as is Alfred and Arthur and Francis and Ivan. I guess the rest is kinda self-explanitory. All I've given you as the reader is a hint that Ivan was his boyfriend. The rest of the the story is pretty much open interpretation to your own mind.**

** My friend who happens to be half Russian, hates how Russia is portrayed in Hetalia, and he thinks Ivan shouldn't be a childish, psychotic person. So this is an attempt of making him normal.**

**I was heavily inspired by Coldplay's song, We Never Change. If you haven't already done so, please youtube this song, and play it while reading this, once more. I promise you, it will leave you with a different feeling.**

**Aight, I've said enough. Hope you guys enjoyed, and if you did, please don't forget to review :) (if you catch any grammatical errors please tell me as well.)**

**Thank you, and much love!**

**-Sunny**


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